Damonic

Chapter 3.

Hey everyone! Sorry about the wait! Nikki_says_so and ChaeWinacott have been really busy lately, but here is the next chapter! Hope you enjoy, and will be posting again soon! :) 

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Was this really happening?

I could still picture that smug, satisfied smirk he wore, just before picking me up.

He’s strong.  I don’t even think he struggles as he carries me down the hall and trudges down the staircase.

Which is a feat within itself, because I don’t go quietly.

I kick.

I scream.

Thinking fast, I throw punches against his back for good measure—which only serves to highlight the broad, smooth curves of his muscles as they flex against my fingers. 

I yank my hand away as if stung, but I can feel the ripple run through me as he laughs.

Jerk.

We pass Marjorie just before we come to the door—but instead of stopping, he just keeps going, and I come to a horrific realization.

Just like that, after nearly eighteen long years of pining away for freedom, it’s gone.

I’m not an orphan anymore—worse.  Much to my surprise I’ve been adopted; ‘it’s what you’re parents had wanted,’ Marjorie had said.

What the hell did she know?

Her stupid words haunt me as I’m dragged onto the wide front porch where some of the others kids glance up wide-eyed.

I spare once glance back at Marjorie, expecting…I don’t know.  For her to be alarmed, maybe?

I am being kidnapped, after all. 

Or, maybe even a little sad; Marjorie, with her carefully controlled concern and obsessive need for order was the closest thing I’ve ever had to a mother.

Instead, she just watches with those sharp, all-seeing eyes that give away nothing.

Well, damn. 

“Thanks a lot!” I yell at her, as she shuts the door behind us, still punching at Damon’s back.

She flinches, and her pale hand flies from her side in a halfhearted wave.  But that’s it.

See ya. 

Don’t let the door hit ya…

“You can let me go, now,” I growl at Damon.

He doesn’t budge, and I can’t help the renewed bit of anger that flares up. 

“Let me go!”  Thinking quickly, I dig my nails into his shoulder in hopes that the shock will loosen his grip; an old dirty trick from my days of running the playground.

But he doesn’t even flinch.

Is he made of stone?

I feel my mouth gape open at the thought, before I’m unceremoniously shoved into the back of a tiny black sports car.

The stupidly overpriced, totally unpractical, car that teenage boys liked to drive when they had tons of money and very little sense.

I glare as I scramble upright.  Damon must have moved out of reach, because the first person my evil eyes meet is the dark haired stranger who watches me with an odd expression.

“Maybe we should have taken my car?”  He asks to someone over my shoulder as he eyes my five foot six inch frame squished into the back of the car—which is little more than an open trunk space. 

“No way.”

The mocking tone makes my blood boil, and I whip my head around to face my newly introduced nemesis. 

Damon smirks at my glare and winks one of those golden eyes. 

I give him a dirty look even as my heart begins to pound like mad in my chest.

Shit, he has gorgeous eyes…

“It’s not that far,” he said, running a hand through his yellow hair.  “She’ll live.”

The man, I remembered that his name was Gabriel, didn’t look convinced.  “It’s about an hour’s drive Damon,” he insisted.  “I don’t like the thought of her cramped back there—”

Damon shrugged off the concern.  “Relax, Gabe,” he said as he lopped around the car and pulled open the passenger’s seat.  “She’ll be fine,” he glanced at me and winked again—but this time I had enough sense to turn away before my heart could start doing flips.  “If not…she could always sit on my lap.”

I feel my couth fly open and have to dig my fingers into the leather upholstery just to keep from launching myself at the back of that smug blond head.

Sit on his…

As if.

I scowl, just to show how un-amused I am with that crude suggestion—not that Damon turns to see.  He just laughs that rumbling laugh as Gabriel reluctantly climbs into the driver’s seat. 

“Damon,” he scolds.  “Don’t start this now.”

“Start what?”  Damon’s voice is the pure definition of innocence, and he finally turns back to look at me now—but that mouth is curved into that irritating smirk.  “I’ve been the perfect, gentleman.  Haven’t I Cassabelle?”

I scowl, but he startles me as he suddenly tosses something in my direction so quickly, I barely have time to reach up and grab it. 

It’s a bag; full of my stuff. 

My paints, brushes, clothes and notebooks.

He’s gathered everything up that I’ve ever owned and shoved it into a tiny duffle that he must have brought on his own, because it isn’t mine.

It’s so pathetically small, that I almost sigh as I settle it onto my lap.

But then I catch sight of that smirking face away and the little bit of pain I feel at leaving gets smothered into nothing.

“Don’t call me that,” I snap, as he chuckles again.

But this time, he doesn’t rise to the bait and I’m left to wiggle into a somewhat comfortable position as Gabriel starts up the car.

“Where are we going?”  I ask, once I gather up the nerve.

I’m uneasy.

Anxiety builds up into a pit in my stomach until I can almost taste it…just there, at the back of my throat. 

I can’t help but risk on last glance back at the orphanage, where Marjorie stands in the doorway, watching us while holding onto Bobby’s tiny hand.

He’s crying…

“I’ll explain everything Cass—“ Gabriel starts, but Damon cuts over him.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he croons to me over his shoulder.  “Just sit back and enjoy the ride.”